Page 14

14

COLLINS

I can’t remember in this lifetime if I ever drew a bath for someone. But here I stand with bubble bath in hand, making sure the water isn’t too warm. It’s the first time the tub will even be used since the new remodel.

I didn’t buy all of this girly-smelling stuff either. All of the products were a housewarming gift from the realtor who helped me find this place years ago. I mean, things like soap don’t expire, right?

Ironically, everything smells like the torturous scent of strawberries. It’s the fragrance that reminds me of innocence—and Penny Hoffman.

She is going to fight me at every turn. That’s what capable women do. They are stubborn as hell and resist help when they need it the most. She would have climbed all of those flights of stairs with her sore feet if I let her, never asking for help. That’s just who Penny is. She’s fierce, sassy, and determined.

I shut off the water for the bathtub, lay out another set of lounge clothes on the vanity, and place a new toothbrush on top.

Since living here, I haven’t had a woman in my place, other than the designer who helped with the upgrades and my cleaning lady who manages more than just the dust. There’s no weird comparison memories or flashbacks playing in my head right now. Yet, what I’m doing for Penny seems natural—as if I know exactly what to do to bring comfort to her.

I am a fixer. It’s what I do. I anticipate needs and come up with the plan on how to deliver services. Granted, all of my other assignments were straightforward and the requirements were easy to execute. With Penny, I’m constantly thinking outside the box. Hell, I’m pretty sure Penny arrived carrying the box in her hands, basically crushing it so she’d never be tempted to hop back inside it ever again.

I hear the soft footsteps behind me and turn to see Penny resting her weight against the doorframe.

“You have a really nice place, Collins.”

A smile forms on my lips. “Thank you. And you will too.”

Her eyes look around at all the details. “I don’t know. This place is pretty snazzy. I don’t think the Furniture Depot is going to give me the same effect.”

“I recently had some upgrades done. I can’t even take all the credit in the styling, because quite frankly, I don’t have style.”

My eyes coast along the tiled features, the soft lighting, and the built-in storage units. Well, I had a say in the features but not in the cosmetic aspects as much.

“The floors are so nice.”

“They heat on the cooler days, which will make it extra nice in the winter. I’m happy with the results.”

Penny takes a step inside, trailing her hand along the polished edge of the vanity. Picking up her toothbrush, she turns it over in her hands. It’s pink. I didn’t plan for my spare box in the closet to have girly-ish supplies. But maybe my realtor was just being humorous with her gift—and a hell of a lot presumptuous. I never would have expected to need all of the supplies she gifted to me in a big basket. Sure, I could have gone out and hunted for them, but this is almost too convenient.

The more minutes Penny spends in my space, the more she feels like she belongs here.

“Are all of these things for your girlfriends?”

I laugh over her curious doe-like eyes.

If she only knew how far from the truth her statement really is.

I’m not a dating man, and I’m definitely not a Casanova. Sure, I know my way around the female body, but that is a skill set, not a lifestyle.

I can tell Penny’s teasing, so I smile just to not make it awkward, yet I feel like I need to say something as well. “These items were gifted by my former real estate agent. There are no girlfriends, Penny.”

It’s true.

I prefer fewer-strings-attached arrangements. Those are better for all parties involved. Having some easy exit strategies keeps me calm and limits the potential for any drama that may result when things get heated.

If I want to fulfill a sexual need, I just hit up the club scene. Women there will volunteer. This isn’t me bragging. This is just how it is when you give just as much as you take. When you have a reputation for not being an asshole, it’s easy to have your pick of women for a drama-free evening.

“Is that a personal choice?”

“As opposed to what?” I ask, trying to understand the motive to her questions.

I don’t like being scrutinized. And yes, I get the irony.

Her shoulders lift. “Maybe you aren’t allowed to date. My brothers keep you very busy.”

“That’s what you think?” I cross my arms over my chest, leaning against the vanity.

“I mean, it wouldn’t surprise me.”

“No, Penny. I’m allowed to have a personal life. I just choose not to have one that involves a girlfriend.”

“And why is that, Collins?”

I let her question mull around in my head, trying to find some type of explanation that will appease her. Maybe all this time, I just assumed that women want a man who can be emotionally engaged with them and their relationship. I just have no interest in going beyond the physical with any woman. Even though the people I surround myself with are madly in love with their partners, it doesn’t mean that I’m capable of that level of commitment.

Not anymore… And definitely not after being burned as badly as I was from a past that I can’t seem to forget.

I’m just not the type of man who can love. I am too analytical of a person to allow my heart the chance to break in order to open it up to the possibility of the undefinable emotion.

I am a black-and-white type of person. I don’t need those fuzzy gray in-between feelings that muddle up the water that wants to stay clear.

The way Penny stares at me with expectation makes me wonder if we are cut from the same cloth—holding others to the same standard that we hold ourselves.

“I’ll let you have some privacy,” I say, ignoring the question. Nothing good can come from this topic of conversation. “There are extra towels in the closet. Help yourself to anything I have here, and if you need something specific, I can get it delivered.”

“Thank you.”

I can feel the tension building in my muscles, as I restrain myself from saying something stupid, or worse, inappropriate. It’s bound to happen the more time we spend near each other, so cutting ties seems to be the only logical solution.

Heading out of the bathroom, I travel down the hallway and into my office. Even if we lose power in the building, I have a backup power supply. Luckily, the storm has passed.

My phone buzzes. Pulling it from my pocket, I see that it is the boss.

Graham: Everything still okay there? No power loss? Penny’s fine?

Collins: All is well here. Putting Penny up in the guest room until her place gets furnished and until it’s safe to bring her back to your parents’.

Graham: Thanks for taking care of her.

I swallow the lump in my throat. The guilt radiating through me is so extreme, it literally makes me nauseous. How am I going to avoid betraying the Hoffman family by being unprofessional? Can I even be around Penny and not break every boundary my traitorous body wants to cross?

It feels like I’m holding on by a thread of self-control.

Checking my email, I absorb myself in work and read the prison reports that get sent to me from some of my spy contacts. It pays to know a lot of people in this business who can give favors out.

It also helps that so many people fucking hate Mark Tanner and want to see him rot.

If his threats made to Penny during her visit had any validation, the Hoffmans would want to know. And while the brothers think they are just empty scare tactics, I’d rather be thorough and not underestimate the asshole—even from his prison cell.

The day that fucker takes his last breath will be celebrated like a holiday.

And to think of Penny testifying in her still fragile state? Never. I’ll never allow it.

So, time is ticking on when Tanner can be snuffed out and it made to look like an accident or self-inflicted, and there’s only so many opportunities where no one goes down with the sinking ship for conspiracy and manslaughter.

Graham and Nic are in the clear from testifying, and now that Angie is married, she’s granted those same privileges. But Penny hasn’t been awarded any luxuries, except for the fact that there’s no way the men in her life will ever allow her to testify. We just have to keep fending off the lawyers who want to start the trial prep.

Too bad there’s not going to be a damn trial.

My eyes start to grow heavy over the play-by-play of Tanner’s day. I get a list of what he eats, how much, and who he has contact with when it comes to the outside world.

Oddly, other than Penny, no one has come to visit him.

It’s as if anyone who may have been close to him either has already been handled or he really is just that unpopular.

When the drug ring was dismantled, Graham and Nic made sure I looked under every rock to find anyone connected with the predator. I scoured the earth for months analyzing digital records and a huge list of contacts until I took every single one of them down.

So it’s not shocking that Mark has no one on the outside left to throw him a lifeline.

“Collins?”

I turn to see Penny standing in the doorway, her hair high up in a wet, messy bun on top of her head, while she is looking utterly adorable wearing my black sweatpants and old basic training T-shirt I refuse to discard. It’s one of those pieces of clothing that I tell myself I should get rid of but never do. Now I want Penny to own it.

Her fingers trail along the bottom hem of the heavily worn fabric. “You were in the military?”

“I was.”

“I didn’t know that. So you retired?”

I’m not ready for story time. “Not exactly.” I was discharged.

“Oh… What happened?”

I lock my screen and get up from my chair. “Did you find everything you need?”

She nods, changing her stance to lean against the doorframe. The outline of her body is even more visible in the dimmed light, as my eyes focus in on the threadbare fabric of my shirt, and my mind instantly floods with images of what she has on underneath the cotton—if she even has anything on at all.

Fuck.

These thoughts aren’t helping me maintain the boundary line—that’s for sure.

I’ll never be able to look at that article of clothing again without fantasizing about Penny’s perfect curves touching it.

Seriously though, the way she can transform something so masculine to look delicately feminine is mind-boggling. The girl can wear anything and make it look tantalizing.

“Can you please show me my room?” She shakes her head, as if trying to clear her mind, and in this instance I wish I could read it. “I mean, the guest room?”

It feels bizarre her referring to the room as a guest room, because she’ll be the first person to ever sleep in it and will probably be the only one to ever use it.

“Come. I’ll show you.”

I slide past Penny, my arm brushing against hers. I watch as she shivers, and I inwardly smile that maybe she is as affected by me as I am by her. That if a brush of my arm can make her hair stand on end, then what will happen if…

Dammit.

I need to get my head on straight. I need to stop thinking about Penny sharing a room just yards away from my own. I need to stop guessing if she is wearing panties and a bra or wondering if her pussy has the scent of sweet strawberries just like her hair does.

I casually adjust my waistband of my pants, as every naughty image I have of my boss’s little sister plays on repeat in my head, an endless loop of curiosity over what Penny would sound like if she were lost in a moment of release. Would her skin ripen to my touch? How would her body respond as it learns its commander?

I am going to go straight to hell.

And that would be a better place to be than having to endure the wrath of Graham and Nic Hoffman. I’ve actually exacted revenge on men that have done their loved ones wrong—so I know exactly what they would want done to me.

And it would be fucking painful.

Sure, I may not die, but being blacklisted from every type of job I would want on this entire coast, while knowing that I betrayed the two men who have given me a life, will probably be equivalent.

I push open the door to the guest room, allowing Penny to enter first. When I remodeled my unit, I never expected this room to actually get used, so the furniture and decor are minimal but functional. However, watching Penny’s face soften, her eyes exploring the room, lets me see my place with a brand-new lens.

I think she likes it.

“This looks so nice, Collins.” Her voice is breathy, as she takes in the space.

The bed is a queen, with a big, fluffy, white comforter and a pile of pillows. All of the furniture is in a modern black style, with clean sharp lines that draw the eye in. Now that Penny stands inside, it’s easy to see what has been missing from it.

Sunshine.

That is Penny though. She’s a bright ray of light, a contrast to the sterile monochrome theme that I’ve grown accustomed to accepting. Yet she looks good here, like she belongs in every inch of my once quiet, undisturbed space.

Sometimes you don’t realize how lonely you are until you experience the comfort of someone else’s presence. For years, I’ve been a solitary man. I go about my business, never bothering to rely on others. I dine out for one, order takeout for one, and expect nothing from anyone.

I’m not bragging. It sucks to feel this cold in my own place—in my own skin. That’s what years of bitterness can do to a person.

Maybe it took Penny walking into my home for me to realize that it isn’t a home at all. I have rooms. Sure, they are filled up with materialistic possessions, but there is nothing warm about the actual atmosphere.

I lean against the doorframe as I watch her hand touch the fabric of the comforter, squeezing it between her fingers. I hope she likes it. I never cared before, and yet I’m already contemplating buying her a new one if it would make her happy.

“Feel free to adjust the temperature of the room. There’s a thermostat box outside of the closet. If you need anything to make yourself more comfortable, just let me know. I’m just down the hall.”

With a nod, she jumps onto the bed, splaying herself out like a deflated hot air balloon.

She looks ridiculous and perfect all at once.

“This bed feels like an endless cloud.”

I chuckle as I watch her roll around to her back, stretch her arms out above her head, and groan out a yawn. My eyes narrow in on the bare span of skin exposed at her stomach, and I adjust my stance. She looks content, and that makes me smile.

How can I not be happy she is happy?

Liking Penny is the easy part.

Controlling my impulses? That’s the impossible part.

The only way for me not to jump on the bed with her and tickle her until she begs me to stop is to walk away.

There’s no way out of this situation that doesn’t involve someone getting hurt.

“I’ll see you in the morning, Pen.”

“Good night, Collins.”

Just the way she says my name is a signal straight to my groin, and I’m certain she has zero clue the influence she has over me. I’m still trying to make sense of it myself.

I head down the hall with my semi-hard dick straining against my pants. The only thing cockblocking me is my own conscience, and thankfully so, because I value my life.

I start to undress as soon as my door shuts, yanking my shirt over my head and throwing it across the room into the hamper.

Penny messes up the order of my perfectly constructed life—which I built for myself out of nothing. Growing up without love helped me to value the progress I’ve made at not becoming a statistic. I value organization, consistency, and predictability. I like to know what to expect and when to expect it. My mind and body thrive on control.

But Penny scatters everything.

She’s the one person making me want things I told myself I couldn’t have, wouldn’t need, and didn’t deserve.

Meandering into the bathroom, I wash my face and brush my teeth. Slipping on a pair of low-rise black pajama pants, I make my way into the bedroom, startled to find Penny in the doorway leading out into the hall.

Her eyes trail up my body like a slow, lingering caress, stopping at different landmarks along the way. Her eyes travel from the V of my waist, to my chest, to the script tattoo I have on the underside of my arm. She eventually stops at my twitching jawline—the one that won’t stay still—as her mouth opens and then closes.

I reach up to rub at the back of my neck.

Does she like what she sees?

Penny tilts her head to the side, as if she’s trying to figure me out. “I didn’t know you had a tattoo.”

“Plural. I have more.”

“Hmm,” she says with a hum, looking to the side of my room where my king bed rests. This is my domain—my safe place.

Her eyes connect with mine again. “How did I not notice when we were swimming at my birthday party? Surely I would have seen it.”

I shrug. It’s not like I try to hide it, but it isn’t like I make it a point to show anyone. I never expected Penny to see it, especially when it is in a discreet place and often concealed if my arm is down near my side.

“Lilost?” she asks, looking for clarification.

I raise my arm to give her a better look since she clearly is curious. “Litost,” I correct.

“What does it mean?”

I never thought my tats would be the topic of deep conversation, but it seems like Penny is intrigued. “It’s a Czech word that’s actually difficult to translate, but it basically means to be tormented by the eye-opening sight of your own misery.”

Penny takes a step closer, shortening the distance between us. My ink artist did a fabulous job with the lettering. Often, the clarity gets muffled over the course of time. I got this one done about five years ago, and it still looks crisp along the edges, and I never had to get it touched up.

“Wow,” she says, reaching her hand out and trailing a finger along each letter.

A shiver starts in my toes, slithering up my legs, over my torso, and through my limbs. Penny is a devil in an angel’s disguise. Does she know how freaking badly I want to pull her to me, cup the porcelain skin of her face, and make out with her pouty lips? I want her to know how a real man kisses and not these boys she probably will end up dating.

Ugh. That reminds me that she is going to go to that dating mixer event. How the hell am I going to be able to control my urges to tell her they all suck ass? I mean, I haven’t met any of them yet, but I can make that prediction with almost ninety-nine percent accuracy. I know how men think.

They are dirty.

I am dirty .

Why the hell am I even worrying about this right now? It’s not like I’m staying in this position. It’s not like I have some claim over Penny—no one does.

“I want one.”

My eyes slide to hers. “Hmm?”

She removes her hand from my skin, making me feel the void at the loss of her touch. “A tattoo. I want one.”

I frown. The thought of Penny enduring the pain of the needle makes me cringe. “Why?” My question comes out harsher than I intend.

“I want to have the thrill of knowing that my skin is being branded with an idea all of my own choosing.”

My hand twitches, thinking of other ways to brand her, mark her, and make her mine.

This sexual frustration has to be because I haven’t fulfilled that need, that avenue, in too long. I could be lusting after anyone right now, and having Penny in close proximity just makes it easier for me to picture her in every corner of my life.

I need to get out of town. I need an outlet to channel all this pent-up aggression, especially before I start making mistakes I won’t be able to undo.

“Your skin is too pure to mar with the tainting of ink.” Unless I’m there to witness it and help her through the precipice of pain.

And unfortunately, I can’t do that. I can’t be the support system she needs.

Penny bites at her bottom lip and rocks on her heels. Confusion forms in her eyes. We both have gotten wrapped up in the moment, neither of us appearing to understand how we got to this place in time.

Has the universe lost its mind too or is this part of some cosmic plan—to put us together only to tear us apart?

“Did you need some?—”

“Oh yeah,” she interrupts and then glances off to the side, looking a bit sheepish. “Sorry. Um, I came here because I wanted to ask if you have a night-light. I know it’s stupid, but I have a hard time sleeping when it’s so dark in the room. I know I can open the curtains, but it just freaks me out too and…” Her words stop. She looks embarrassed.

It hurts me that she’s still affected by the darkness of the past that must seep through the cracks in her waking thoughts. I can only imagine what evilness awaits her once she closes her eyes and drifts off to sleep.

I know therapy has helped with her coping with the drugging incident. However, memories and fragments of memories are ticking time bombs—waiting to come out and cause damage when she probably least expects it.

“No worries, Penny. I think I have one in the kitchen. Let’s go check.”

“I appreciate it,” she says meekly, tears forming in her eyes.

“Hey,” I say, pulling her closer to me, “it’s going to be okay.”

“I just get”—she sniffles—“scared sometimes.”

I nod, giving her a squeeze as we walk into the kitchen. I release my hold on her to open the cabinet where I keep batteries, flashlights, and other random things. Everything is neatly labeled in bins for easy access. I find the package of night-lights, handing two to Penny, along with a pocket-sized flashlight.

“Is that enough?”

She nods. I can tell she wants to break down, and it tears at my heart to know she’s ashamed near me. She never has to feel that way. I understand demons. If only she realized how alike we really are.

I lead her back to her room and watch from the doorframe as she finds free outlets for the lights.

“Good night, Penny,” I whisper, taking a step backward in retreat.

“Good night.” Her tone is sad, and I know I won’t be able to sleep knowing that she is here feeling uncertain.

“Collins?” Her voice is barely a whisper.

“Yeah?”

Her shaky hands fix her hair, as she shifts her weight from foot to foot. “Do you mind sitting with me until I fall asleep?”

“I don’t mind at all.”